A benevolent plan
by miskatonic
Summary: The lights are out. All of them. Everywhere. The monkey has disappeared. Hence, the bodhisattva's benevolent plan of action. (Part 3 only. See note.)


**Read me first:** This was part 3 of a "round robin" -- an eight-part fanfiction in which each part was written by someone different, in her own style, in relay. It was organized in 2004 by Timmonsgray. Since Part 3 was mine, I'm throwing it up here just for snicks. The rest was never posted anywhere but Livejournal; if so inclined, leave the individual writers any comments on their own blog entries. For more information on the setup and to read the entire story in order, try this handy link collection (copy/paste, remove spaces): www. livejournal. com / users / dunwich / 7515. html

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* * *

Disclaimer:_ Kazuya Minekura owns all things _Saiyuki_.  
_Previously:_ Someone put out the lights. All of them. Everywhere. Also, a monkey has disappeared. Hence, the bodhisattva's benevolent plan of action. (Part 3 only.)

* * *

Pick-up from mjj here.

"'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun'," Tempou said sadly.

"Shut up!" Konzen snapped. He had no idea what Tempou was babbling about. "I haven't agreed to do this! This, this asinine plan --"

"Plan? I thought it was a conspiracy," Kenren interrupted.

"Well, not so much a conspiracy as a ruse," Tempou suggested.

"That's not the point!" Konzen snarled. "The point is --"

"And 'asinine' isn't the word I'd use either," Kenren said.

"'Hilarious'?" Tempou wondered.

"That's getting warmer," Kenren agreed.

"Listen when people are talking!" Konzen shouted.

"Konzen Douji, please don't make a fist," Jiroushin sighed; he was, at that moment, attempting to pull off Konzen's remaining sleeve.

"Stop that!" Konzen said, trying free his arm.

"But as the General pointed out, these don't go with the ensemble," Jiroushin protested.

"And your agreement isn't really required," Tempou pointed out mildly. "Gokuu is your responsibility, after all, yes? Please lift your arms a little higher, Konzen."

"I can't watch that idiot monkey every moment of the day," Konzen fumed. "I have work to do! And why would I care about the, the ensemble! _I'm not wearing this!_"

Konzen had decided to ignore that he did, in fact, already seem to be wearing a great deal of it. They'd managed to remove his shirt and jeans -- and the General's commentary on that had been . . . had been beneath his notice, Konzen thought acidly. Of course Kenren would wander in, smelling strongly of mud and fish, just in time for . . . this insanity.

As for the General in question, he was at that moment digging through another of Tempou's questionable boxes at the edge of the lamplight. At the mention of his name, he'd looked up and given Konzen a cheery salute and a leer.

Enough was enough. "I refuse," he said firmly. He shrugged off Tempou's hands, pushed Jiroushin aside and started tugging at the robes.

"Oh, but you are wearing it," Kanzeon Bousatsu asserted silkily. "Stop acting like a spoiled child." The entire time, she'd been reclining on Tempou's couch watching their manhandling of Konzen with all the satisfaction of a house cat who'd devoured a pet shop. "Like the Marshal said, the kid's yours to look after. You screwed up."

Konzen flinched, the fairness of the judgment stinging a little. "So I'll find him. If you'd all just --"

"You already tried," she cut him off. "Times up. The kid knows he's really in the soup this time, so he's holed up waiting for it to blow over. Only it's not going to blow over as long as he doesn't come out. So you, my dearest nephew, are going to do whatever is required to rectify this situation," she said. "The monkey, the fruit, and everything."

"I'm your only nephew, and I still fail to see how --"

"Really, this is such ungrateful behavior. You're fortunate that I have -- in my justifiably renowned compassionate benevolence -- decided to take an interest in this affair." She nodded smugly.

Konzen slumped, feeling the weight of his good fortune bearing down his shoulders in multiple layers of fabric. _Benevolence. That old hag, she's enjoying this._ "And how is this going to remedy anything?" he shot back. "And, for that matter, why the hell do you have cases of barbarian women's clothing?" he snarled at the Marshal.

Tempou pushed up his glasses and looked bemused by the question. "I'm interested in many aspects of life Down Below. But," he murmured to Jiroushin, "I believe this robe's the wrong color for the season."

"We have a few more layers to go, don't we?" Jiroushin answered in a worried tone.

"_More_ layers! I already can barely move -- and he is not touching me!" Konzen announced, glaring at the advancing, grinning Kenren, who had a peculiar looking robe decorated with small mirrors and curved beads thrown over his arm.

"Just doing my part for the cause too, gorgeous," Kenren said innocently.

Ignoring Konzen's wordless harumph of fury, the Bousatsu continued, "To answer your question, this is a very practical plan of distraction."

"Practical! How is this going to get Gokuu back?"

"Yes, practical. As for the animal, well, some jobs are better off contracted out to those with more experience."

"More experience? Really," the Marshal said, interested. "Who did you have in mind?"

"No one you'd know," the Bousatsu said.

Konzen heard that with alarm. She couldn't possibly be thinking of having Gokuu hunted down like a . . . "Wait just one minute. You're not going to --?"

"No worries," she waved airily. "The kid's going to be fine. And so will you. All you have to do is be missish, hard to please, and unwilling to be appeased." She sighed in pleasure. "It's so perfect. Practically type-casting."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Konzen said, suspicious.

"Relax, no director's couch is involved," she said with a roll of heavily kohled eyes. "Unless, of course, you'd like that instead?"

"I'd rather wear a damned dress!"

"Good, good. That's being arranged," Tempou assured him.

Jiroushin, chose that moment to speak up. "Oh dear," he said.

Everyone looked at him. "Oh dear?" Kanzeon asked.

He flipped a few more pages of the Marshal's tome, which he'd been consulting. "Well, it's just that . . . if I understand this correctly, won't we have to, ah, treat his face?" Jiroushin said diffidently. "For accuracy?"

"Ah," Tempou said. "Well, the razor is in the --"

"That does it! No one, no one is touching my face!" Konzen barked, backing away. Then the lamplight abruptly disappeared from view, and Konzen sputtered.

"Easy solution!" he heard Kenren's muffled voice. "Long as he keeps his head down, this hides his face, hides his hair, hides it all." In a stage whisper, he added, "You can express your gratitude to me later. I've got lots more good ideas."

Konzen yanked aside the cloth; peering out from beneath it, he found four sets of assessing eyes fixed on him.

"I'm not certain about the style," Tempou murmured.

"Huh. Not good, but not bad," Kanzeon pronounced, standing. "You look positively divine, dahling." She ran a lacquered fingernail down the front of the robes, oblivious to Konzen's thunderous expression. "A maker of manners can wear whatever the hell she likes. Case in point!" She struck a pose.

Everyone looked hastily away.

"What?" she demanded, eyebrow raised.

"Er, Kanzeon Bousatsu, it's just, just that . . ." Jiroushin stammered.

"Oh, forget it. So here's the deal. You," she indicated Konzen, "are not coming out from under there, and refuse to share your sunny disposition with the world until you get your peaches," she finished. "Got it, Amaterasu?"

"Don't call me that," Konzen grumbled.

"Get used to it," she ordered. "No one's seen her in years around here, so they won't know the difference. You'll present your bitchy memorial at court and stick around to be difficult and be cosseted. Keep everyone's attention on you, got it?"

"Ah! The memorial," Jiroushin said, alarmed. "We need --"

"Oh yeah, that," Kenren said, scratching his cheek. "Is it insubordinate to remark to one's superior that his handwriting blows donkeys?" As Tempou waved an apologetic hand, Kenren said, "Yeah, fine, I'll take care of it. It's just like a supplies requisition, only stodgier, right?"

"You'll get the bakazaru back," Konzen interrupted, staring at his aunt, silently willing her to give him a straight answer, just this once.

"He'll be gotten," she assured him.

Konzen sighed and surrendered. "Tempou, get me a brush and a scroll. I'll write the damn memorial myself," he said.

"Amaterasu-sama, please take care not to get ink on your fetching gown," Kenren begged with overelaborate politeness.

"Go die," Konzen suggested.

* * *

"Hey, who needs fuckin' sunshine when we've got Sanzou-sama to light up our lives?" Gojou shouted. "You trigger-happy, stinkin' monk!" 

"Knock next time," Sanzou said. He glared at Gojou, who was levering Hakkai up from the floor where he'd pushed him. Now he could discern a flash of monocle and strained smile by flashlight.

"Ah. Please excuse me, Sanzou. I thought I'd knocked loudly enough." Sanzou scowled even harder at Hakkai's tone of mild reproof. "I thought you might want the other flashlight."

"Why the hell are you apologizing to him?" Gojou snapped at him. "You pounded loud enough to get everyone else in the hall!" Sanzou now heard, out in the corridor beyond the two men, the murmur of a curious audience. Gojou was cocking an accusatory thumb at the bullet hole in the door jamb, the level of where Hakkai's head had been. "But for paranoid assholes, guess you gotta bang a gong and send up flares, too."

"Shut up, get in here -- and close that damned door!" Sanzou tucked his gun back into his sleeve, ignoring both noises of protest. "So what's the story, here?" he demanded. "This isn't a storm. What the hell is it?"

"We were hoping that you might have an idea," Hakkai sighed. "From the talk downstairs, it appears that some in town claim to have seen the sun disappear."

"Disappear," Sanzou repeated flatly. "How the hell can it disappear? It's a damn planet."

"A star, actually," Hakkai corrected him gently.

"Whatever. It can't just walk off the job." But Sanzou abruptly decided that that question could be tabled for later, as a more immediate one had just intruded on his notice -- his head count had come up one short.

"So what the hell are you looking at me for?" Gojou said. "I didn't take the damn thing."

"You were with Gokuu, idiot," Sanzou pointed out, with, he thought, extreme patience. "Where is he?"

"The monkey?" Gojou blinked. "Downstairs. They're going to set up the inn's generator. We were gonna help them drag it out of storage, but Hakkai insisted on bringing a flashlight up to you." He added, "And somehow I had an idea he'd need a bodyguard. So, g'wan, ask me why I'd think that."

"Stow it," Sanzou said curtly. "The last thing we need is to get separated right now. Go down and get the-- What the hell's going on out there now?" he finished querulously as a few shouts of joy were heard from the hall.

Gojou was already opening the door, and a shaft of light pushed its way into the dark room. "Hey, looks like they got that generator up after all," he said.

Hakkai reached over to flick the room's switch. "Ah, this should help matters a great deal," he said, voice trailing off uncertainly as the overhead sprang to life only to reveal another Sanzou and Gojou glare-off.

"Hakkaaaai, what'd you do that for?" Gojou sniffed. "Now we're forced to look at San-chan's ugly mug again."

"Go die," Sanzou suggested.

* * *

"That's . . . pretty large," Gokuu said doubtfully. He shifted impatiently from foot to foot, staring up at the dark second-floor windows. He was certain he'd heard a muffled gunshot. 

Sanzou shot at Gojou all the time, but what if he missed in the dark and hit Hakkai? Gokuu wondered anxiously. Would Hakkai get mad and leave -- and would that mean Sanzou would try to drive again himself? Gokuu shuddered at the thought. Or would Jeep go with Hakkai? And Sanzou was a terrible cook so that would mean --

"Believe it. In the army, you see it all," the truck driver assured him. They stood beside the delivery truck from the market, which had pulled up back not long after the day had gone dark. The driver was now slouched against the truck door; he took a heavy drag on his cigarette, then spread his arms: "Youkai beasts as big as --"

"Shit! That was my fuckin' foot!" someone shrieked.

"Oiii," the innkeeper's voice sailed from the darkness, "Driver-san! Can you turn up your brights?"

"Yeah yeah, got ya covered," the driver called back. He nudged Gokuu on the arm. "Hey, kid. Why don't you give the comedy troupe over there a hand with that?"

"Wha?" Gokuu blinked, startled from his thoughts. "Uh, sure, no problem." As the driver swung back into the cab, Gokuu, mildly embarrassed, was already stumbling over to help the inn staff drag the generator out of the shed.

This was why he'd stayed out here after all, but he'd gotten distracted by food. The driver had given him one of those strange-tasting peaches off the truck while they were unloading to the kitchen.

After the swearing had begun again, this time over tools and cables, Gokuu wandered back to the truck.

"Listen," he said, "it's been nice talking to you, but I gotta go find my --"

"Here, kid. Reward for your labors before you go. On the house." The driver was holding out another peach. "Oh, hell, here, have a couple. I'm not making many more deliveries today, looks like," he said, glancing up at the black sky.

The man's amused tone made Gokuu frown. They'd said that, when the sky had gone dark, everyone in the province had run for a light-switch at the same time, resulting in overdemand and these village-wide blackouts, which were even worse.

But this guy was the only one who seemed to find the situation funny. Well, the only one besides the redroach. And the guy smelled kinda funny -- like fish. That had been bugging Gokuu, too.

"Yeah, thanks," Gokuu said. Just as he took the fruit, with a belch of exhaust that left Gokuu holding his nose and gagging, the generator hiccupped to deafening life. The lights beyond the windows of the inn beside them flared. "Whoa," Gokuu said, shielding his dazzled eyes.

"Little substitute sun for our lives," the driver said, laughing.

Now that he could see him, Gokuu was a little taken aback. The driver was pretty tall, but otherwise he looked ordinary enough -- dark hair, dark eyes. But his clothes were something else again. He wore a grungy white lab coat and hip-waders. From under the coat came a glint of jewelry across his bare chest, and it looked kinda like a skull.

"What, you don't like peaches now?" the driver said.

"Hunh? No, they're, uh, great," Gokuu said, with a resigned glance at the fruit he was still clutching. He wolfed one down hastily to be polite, shaking his head again over the taste. He guessed Hakkai would say that throwing them away would be rude, so he'd leave the rest out where the erogappa would steal them. "Like I was saying I've got to, to . . ."

Gokuu paused. The ground in view under the lights had begun to shimmer in a disturbing way.

"Got to what?"

"To . . ." Gokuu swayed. "Huh, that's weird," he said thickly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's. . ." The ground was now tilting at a strange angle, and he had the oddest sensation of sliding. Gokuu's knees buckled.

"Hey, kid, what's the matter?"

"I --" Gokuu fell.

With a grunt of effort, the truck driver caught him on the way down. He commented wryly, "You may have ditched the hardware, but you still aren't a lightweight."

Gokuu couldn't think of any response to that, as the world collapsed into a darker shade of black.

* * *

"Saru's on the lam," Gojou had announced. 

"He isn't downstairs," Hakkai had clarified. "He was last seen talking to the driver of a delivery truck from the local market, but no one saw him again after that."

_Morons._

"_My_ fault? How the hell is this my fault? _You're_ the one who didn't train him not to take candy from strangers!"

"Er, Sanzou, no one recognized the driver. They thought he might be new."

_Idiots._

Sanzou was surrounded by them. Every fuckin' day of the week.

All he'd wanted was some peace and quiet -- a few moments' break from them that he deserved, dammit. But that asshole Gojou had left Gokuu downstairs by himself, knowing just as well as he did that the monkey was probably going to beeline for the kitchen in the dark. Then that bakazaru hadn't gone for the pantry after all, but had gone . . . who the hell knew where?

Then Hakkai had been skewered Sanzou's thoroughly sensible plan to not separate by pointing out that three of them splitting up to look at the same time would be faster. Sanzou knew it was nothing but a ploy to move himself and Gojou farther apart. Far apart.

They could suit themselves. Sanzou wasn't the one who was being the complete asshole here. He didn't want them around anyway.

_At a time like this,_ Sanzou thought. _That dumbass was thinking of what? His stomach._ Sanzou stalked down the street toward the market, flashlight in a deathgrip.

"I'll find him, and then I'll kill him. I'll absolutely kill him," Sanzou grumbled. "Him and them. And then I'm dragging their corpses back on the road, sun or no fucking sun."

"Heeeey, sailor. Maybe I've got what you're looking for." A low, sultry voice from the side of the street interrupted his peaceful, mindful meditations over the finer details of what he would do to his three companions.

"What was that?" he snapped. Then Sanzou did a double-take when his gaze fell on the woman leaning against the wall under one of the restaurant lanterns. Or, more specifically, fell on her outfit. Or lack thereof.

"Yo! I bring you tidings of great joy." She waved cheekily, and her breasts under the sheer fabric jiggled accordingly. As did other bits. Sanzou turned away hastily.

"What?" she demanded.

Figured that the dark would bring out perverted bastards like this in force, he thought sourly. "Not interested!" Sanzou snarled, turning on his heel.

"No? But aren't you the one who placed the ad about the lost pet?"

_What?_ He glared back over his shoulder. "Meaning?"

"Meaning _I've_ also placed an ad. I'm seeking temporary help, over five years' experience in locating and capturing errant monkeys required. You seem to be overqualified. Interested?"

_So that was it._ Knowing that Gokuu hadn't wandered off on his own after all didn't make Sanzou any happier somehow. He tucked the flashlight under his arm, and sorted out his .38, ejected the cylinder, and elaborately counted the number of bullets. "No, I'm not interested in games."

Her face fell in a moue of disappointment. "Pity. The pay's good, the bonuses are enlightening. And, believe me, you'll be needing another source of income when that gold card's been recalled, Genjou Sanzou."

Sanzou blinked. _What the hell?_ "Who the hell are you, you witch?"

She harumphed. "Is that any way to address your --" She paused, considering.

"My what?" he demanded.

"Your inspirational service provider," she said, smile curving once again. "No surprise you didn't recognize me -- you snoozed through my last technical support call. Did you know that you drool while you're sleeping?"

_Just when I was certain the day couldn't get any worse . . ._ He'd taken what Hakkai and Gojou had told him with a few tons of salt, under the circumstances. But now it appeared that they'd been employing some massive understatement. Sanzou scowled and pondered the potential karmic implications of shooting a bodhisattva.

"You really don't want to find out," she said.

_Shit. So she reads minds, too._

"Don't have to. It's written all over your face," she advised him, adding cryptically, "as always."

Sanzou tried to gather the remaining shreds of his dignity. "So I'm supposed to believe that a streetside strumpet is --"

"Kanzeon Bousatsu!"

Both swiveled to glare at the newcomer, a large man dressed in old-fashioned armor who was puffing down the street. "Kanzeon Bousatsu, I must speak with you!"

"Jiroushin," she sighed dramatically. "You're supposed to be accompanying the Heaven-Shining-Great --"

"I am! That is, I will be again in a moment! I just need to --" He stopped and peered at the frowning audience. "Isn't that Kon-, er, Genjou Sanzou?"

"None other," the Bousatsu said. She wiggled her fingers at Sanzou: "Excuse us a sec, my humble and devoted servant." Leaving Sanzou to stew in his wrath, she grasped the other by the arm and led him a few yards to the side: "Step into my office over here."

Sanzou couldn't hear any of the whispered conversation, but it ended with "Not to worry!", and a pat on the man's arm. But the other's expression, before he took flight back down the street, didn't look comforted. At all.

And, as the bodhisattva turned to smile upon him again, Sanzou felt an unaccustomed pang of sympathy.

* * *

Kenren steered the truck around another pothole on the back road, and wondered again how dear old dad would react to learning that the current bane of his existence had, a few hundred years later, fallen out of his nest into lower climes. 

Kenren took a drag on his cigarette. "Y'know, he'll probably bitch that all the quiet's disturbing his concentration," he said. He reached out and ruffled his companion's hair. "But don't worry, kid. Ken-nii-chan's not going to spill the beans and ruin the big surprise."

No answer.

"Gotten a little taller, haven't you? See you got your tail docked, too," he said.

Still no response.

"Yeah, well, it looks all right. But I'm here to tell ya, that outfit's pretty quirky. That what the teenagers are wearing these days?"

After a few moments, he complained, "Y'know, unconscious people made rotten conversationalists." Just then he spotted the swing of the lantern ahead, beside the road. "But that's okay, I've just found a better one."

Kenren braked and coasted to a stop. He rolled down the window, and leaned out into the lantern light. To the man in the black leather greatcoat, he drawled, "Hey there, cutie. Fancy a lift?"

Tempou's lenses gleamed in the light. "It wouldn't get rather crowded in there?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Mission accomplished, Sir. Wanna see my haul?"

"Yes, I do," Tempou replied simply.

"Fine, but gimme my own coat back first," Kenren said, opening the door and swinging down from the truck's cab. "This thing of yours needs a trip to the laundry. Or a bonfire."

"Yours doesn't smell of lilies either," Tempou pointed out with asperity, shrugging out of Kenren's coat. "So I take it that the youkai anesthetic was effective?"

"Two," Kenren told him.

Tempou blinked. "My. Unexpected."

"First one slowed him down a little, but it took two doses to take him down for the count. Didn't seem to like the taste, so I was lucky to get that many down him."

"He's gotten stronger, it seems," Tempou mused aloud, climbing into the cab. After a moment, he added, "Taller as well. So was he alone at that inn?"

"Nah. Said he was traveling with a couple other guys, but I didn't catch a glimpse of 'em. I hightailed it before they came out looking for him."

"Hmm, really. I wonder," Tempou said. "Hello, Gokuu! I suppose we haven't seen you in a while," he said cheerfully, patting the sleeper on the cheek. To Kenren, he added, "He does look rather different, doesn't he?"

"Eh, not so much as that. So," Kenren said, propping his elbows on the seat to watch as Tempou checked Gokuu's pupils and pulse, "he's doing okay, right?"

"Seems to be, yes," Tempou murmured. After another few moments, Tempou straighted and adjusted his glasses.

"Wanna go ahead and slap a binding on him, then?" Kenren asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

"I'd rather not," Tempou said. Looking back at Kenren, he remarked, "Which is what you were expecting me to say, isn't it?"

"Hoping you'd say," he corrected. "Just seems like overkill. He's a kid, where's the harm in just letting him sleep it off?"

"Hrm," Tempou agreed. As Kenren moved aside, he backed out and swung down from the cab himself. He accepted the cigarette offered by Kenren, and they lapsed into a comfortable quiet. "Those companions you mentioned . . ."

"Yeah, I'm wondering, too." Kenren leaned back against the truck. "'Cause maybe it's a lot longer while than we think. She was right, y'know."

"He didn't recognize you," Tempou said.

"Not even a flicker."

"How very odd."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Kenren said, uncomfortable. He gave the truck an angry thump with his fist, "But then again, I dunno. This junker has the same damn ignition system as any other piece of shit you'd hotwire to get home from the bar -- ah, in theory." He laughed. "Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything."

"Oh, not at all," Tempou agreed. "Did you notice what he's wearing?"

"Yeah, funny, hunh? Shackles are gone."

"That, yes. Also the tunic."

"What about it?"

"I've seen that symbol before somewhere," Tempou said. "Perhaps in one of the histories. You know, if we were back in my rooms . . . I'm certain there's a scroll in which--"

"We don't have a month to dig for it, Marshal," Kenren pointed out.

"Mm, no, I suppose not," Tempou said wistfully.

"But we've got plenty of time to sit here, quietly, out of the way, babysitting," Kenren said.

"Mm, yes," Tempou agreed. "In theory."

"While whoever it is running around doing whatever the hell it is that they're doing."

"Mm. In theory."

General Kenren snuck a look at his Marshal out of the corner of his eye, and found that his Marshal was looking right back. Both smiled.

"'The best laid schemes o mice an' men, gang aft a-gley'," the Marshal said.

Hand-off to queasy here.


End file.
